Nemifahmam
by NowPanicAndFreakOut
Summary: Gustave Daae is dying. His final wish is to visit his homeland of Persia one last time, and his daughter Christine is more than happy to help him. But when Christine gets herself into a nasty deal with the Shah, and Gustave isn't there to help her, who will? E/C, ALW-based, AU.
1. Prologue

**A few notes before we begin**: As most of this story will be set in 19th Century Persia, I am going to be attempting to use the Jalali Calendar- the calendar that I think was used in those times. My only resource on this, and the conversions, is the ever-unreliable internet, so I apologise for any mistakes!

I think I will put Gregorian and Jalali months as well as a link to the converter that I'm using and some basic information on my profile page so you can find out what date(s) each chapter takes place on if you're curious.

Last but not least- this is my first Phantom story, so please leave feedback, good or constructive, so I can see how I'm doing. Thank you!

* * *

_**2 Aban, 1230  
Tehran**_

He flew through the open door and into her room and immediately halted. She was asleep.

It was a wonderful sight, to see her resting. The last time he had seen her, she had been exhausted almost to her limits, and it gave him great joy that she had finally been allowed time to herself to relax. His eyes skimmed over her, greedy after so long a separation- the curve of her form underneath the cream bedsheet, moving slightly with her smooth breathing; the hand flung off of the mattress and dangling in space; the beauty of her long, closed eyelashes.

It wasn't until he looked at her, really looked, that he even noticed that anything was wrong.

Silvery tear tracks, still glistening slightly, ran down her face and ended in a tiny pool beside her on the pillow. Frowning slightly, he approached her silently and crouched at the side of her bed. From this new angle, he could see what appeared to be a bruise on her neck. He bristled at the thought of anyone but himself daring to touch her. He noticed that the mark seemed to extend below the line of the sheet. Carefully, oh-so-carefully, he peeled the covering back and had to restrain a gasp at what he saw.

Red and purple handprints, freshly made, were scattered across her body. He briefly wondered if it was moral to be looking at her bare breasts but found himself not caring when he took in the vicious markings covering them. Her legs were curled up to her body in the foetal position, but the barest tips of purple fingers reached around from her inner thigh. The sight made him want to vomit.

Very gently, he spread the sheet back over her, smoothing it down delicately and wincing as he saw the tiny specks of blood over the lower half of it. Only her slender neck and face, and the part of her arm that hung from the edge of the bed, were left exposed- only two bruises of many.

And he wept. He dared to lay his fingers lightly upon her bruised wrist, and he wept.


	2. Chapter One

_**Ten Months Earlier**_

_**30 December, 1850  
Paris**_

"Christine?" Gustave Daae's voice carried through the house. Immediately, Christine abandoned her half-made bed and rushed downstairs to his side.

"Yes, Papa?" She said a little breathlessly, her lips turning up as Gustave raised his hand and smoothed some of her hair back.

"You shouldn't rush so for an old man," her father said, smiling weakly. "I only wondered if you knew where my book was."

Christine pushed herself up from her crouch and went to the bookshelf across the room. "Which one? I put the whole pile away while you were sleeping; I thought you'd finished them all."

"Oh, not quite. I was just getting to the end of _The Scarlet Letter_," Gustave replied. Christine found the book and, after surveying the cover critically, handed it to him.

"Meg was reading that a couple of weeks ago. Doesn't it cover some rather… scandalous topics?" She frowned slightly. Gustave chuckled at her expression.

"Don't worry, Lotte," he chimed, "there's nothing too awful. It's nothing I wouldn't let you read. Mind you," he warned, "I wouldn't like you getting any ideas from it!" Christine smirked.

"Nothing to worry about there, Papa. Did you want anything else?"

"Some water perhaps, but I can…" His voice drifted off. Christine had already left the room and soon returned with a jug and a glass full of cool liquid. She handed him the glass and he took a grateful sip.

"Has your throat gotten worse again?" She tried to hide how worried she felt.

"I believe it is my lungs, rather than my throat," Gustave said far too cheerily. "But in any case, it is probably worse." He smiled brightly.

"Your optimism will be the death of you," Christine muttered as she tucked his blanket more tightly around his feet.

"Well, something will be. May as well be positivity!" She couldn't help but laugh softly. His smile brightened, then grew more solemn. "On a more serious note, I have been thinking." Christine tilted her head to one side, like a curious puppy. "There are a few things I wish to- I do not mean to sound morbid, but, well-"

"Papa," Christine said gently. "Just say what's on your mind." Gustave took a pained breath.

"I wish to return to Persia, one last time," he said, some hoarseness creeping into his voice.

"Oh, Papa… Please, don't talk like that," Christine admonished, taking his hand. "You haven't seen all of your years yet. It's just… Just a slight cold. That's all." Her father laughed a little at that, and she might have smiled too had his chuckle not turned into a series of dry-sounding coughs. She offered him his water, but he waved it away, heaving a weary sigh.

"I am dying, my darling Lotte. There is no point in denying the fact. Is it so wrong that I should want to visit my birthplace again before I meet my maker?"

"No, and I never said it was," Christine objected. "I just don't like to think about you- about your illness." Her eyes were downcast, and a frown wrinkled her forehead. It would be difficult to get to Persia were her father healthy, and she a strapping young lad. The journey would be tough- they would have to leave soon if they were both to make it there, and travelling across Europe in the cold winter months would be no easy feat. And the sheer amount of travelling required- if her father couldn't take the strains of it all… But nevertheless, it was his wish, and she could hardly deny him. She took a deep breath, swallowing past the lump in her throat, and graced her father with as brilliant a smile as she could manage. "Of course we'll go. I'll start packing our things tomorrow morning."

Gustave's face lit up and he reached up to pull his daughter into his arms. "Thank you," he whispered, and that was all she needed to know that the journey would be worth the struggle.


End file.
